Of Men and Soldiers
by Angel's Redemption
Summary: Ian, Sergeant of Charlie Squad, gasped in shock. An enormous weight pounded inside his chest, crushing his ribs and everything they protected. He had never lost a soldier... wounded soldiers were expected in war, but this... this was nothing more than a blow beneath the belt...


**~Of Men and Soldiers~**

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**BETA: **_Aerónyx_

**Summary:** _Ian, Sergeant of Charlie Squad, gasped in shock. An enormous weight pounded inside his chest, crushing his ribs and everything they protected. He had never lost a soldier... wounded soldiers were expected in war, but this... this was nothing more than a blow beneath the belt._

**Rated: **_T for Mild Swearing_

**CHAPTER ONE: WAR IS NOT NICE**

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Panting, Ian allowed a few sweat beads to drip down his forehead. He reloaded, his lancer radiating with heat. Dropping by the bullet, only a handful of locusts were left standing. He aimed and shot a locust in the back of the head. Sighing with relief, Ian glanced to his right only to find that the locust horde had wounded several of his men. Second-in-command, Utah Prince, whipped a string a blood from his cheek bone just as his gaze met with Ian's. Both of the commanding officers had dirt smudged from chin to hairline with the undeniable dark circles beneath their eyes; lack of sleep was a specialty for Charlie squad. Suddenly, another wave of fire began to spit in their direction. What Gears were left unharmed, otherwise on two feet, sprinted for cover to return fire.

"Damn!" Utah swore, hands growing numb from his lancer, "These locusts are tearing us apart!"

"If Z would do his job, we wouldn't have this fucking problem," Ian mumbled.

"Not now! He's doing what he can with what he's got, Ian!" Utah retorted, "What more can we ask of him?"

Ian cleared his throat, directing his attention once again to the locust fighting with equal ferocity. He knew Utah was right. Z frustrated every experienced Gear. The boy was nothing but trouble; he was lucky to even be on a squad at this point. Pulled from basic training early, the rookie not only lacked the skill to fight but the reality to do so. The kid had grit with a sniper rifle, but his reliability to provide support with a scope was declining into the negatives.

"Oye," Hawkins bellowed, Scottish accent surfacing."Ladies, ya're both pr'ey. Cn'we kill some grubs now?"

Ian exhaled, rubbing his eyes; exasperation lingering. "All right, listen up, Utah, flank them on the left; Hawkins, right."

Ian released his gun to radio the rookie, "Z, pick off as many grubs as you can from your position."

A voice echoed through the static, "Ye'sir, I won't let you down, Sir."

Ian nodded with appreciation, "Pass it on to Kevin."

Ian returned his attention to Utah and Hawkins; his raspy voice itching with intensity, "I'll go straight in."

In the corner of his eye, Ian saw Kevin battling a locust one on one with his chainsaw. Amidst the surrounding sound of gunfire, he faintly heard Z calling out to Kevin. Distracted by Z's careless shouting, the sarge suddenly heard the grinding sound of a chainsaw gnawing through flesh. It was too late when reality had sunk in with Ian. Kevin's mangled body was laying in a pool of blood. Ian's breath was snagged inside his lungs; chest pounding as if a huge weight had been added to his chest. This sudden fear was strong enough to crush his ribs and everything they protected. He had never lost a soldier; sure his squad was new, but losing life wasn't. Wounded soldiers were expected in war, however this-this was nothing more than a blow beneath the belt. Shaking away the smell of spilled blood, Ian returned his focus on the mission.

Z, the newest member of Charlie Squad, began to hyperventilate over the radio. He only had one job; a simple job: provide sniper support to his squad mates if they needed it. He had failed. Kevin, his temporary responsibility, was no longer standing on two feet inside his scope.

"Oh-Oh my God..." Z repeated as he dropped his rifle.

"Z!" Ian addressed into the radio, "Stay focused on your job!"

"But, Sir-"

"You are disobeying a direct command, soldier!"

"Sir, I just-"

"Get on that damn rifle and make sure no one else dies!" Ian ordered harshly. "Charlie, move out!"

Ian approached the locusts with a ferocity that only death could satisfy. A yell escaped the sergeant's lips as he riddled the nearest locust's body with a fresh wave of firepower. As that locust went down another ran up to meet Ian face to face, chainsaw revving. Ian cranked up his own chainsaw while the locust began his charge. The creature swung the vibrating blades at him just as he ducked to plant his own blade between the locust's eyes. As the locust fell to the ground, body twitching, Ian felt only hatred for the creature.

Turning around, the commanding officer shot another grub in the back just as it headed for Utah. Their gazes met for a short moment, allowing Ian to catch that light twinge of gratitude in Utah's eyes. Ripped from Utah's attention, Ian was drawn to the violent shouts omitting from Hawkins, giddy with excitement. He was surrounded by locust; four and a half to be exact. If Ian had only just met Hawkins, the bloody Scot, he would have expected the soldier to be dying, but it turns out that Hawkins was having the time of his life. He began to laugh maniacally while frantically reloading his weapon to unload another round into the grub just to his left. Waiting for a window, Hawkins saw his opportunity and revealed himself from cover, lancer aimed at the targeted locust. Before he could pull the trigger, the grub dropped against the pavement, its head splattered across the sidewalk.

Groaning in frustration, Hawkins examined the bullet embedded into what was left of the locust's forehead. Rolling his eyes and muttering a slur of curse words, he shouted, "That was my kill, ya bloody wanker!"

From a distance away, hidden by fallen debris, Z shrugged and prepared to reload his rifle. Hawkins wasn't too fond of the rookie's response, so he flipped him the bird. Ian and Utah ran to assist Hawkins, but when they reached him he had crushed the last locust's head with the bottom of his large boot. Everyone was idle when they realized the battle was finally over. Ian sunk to the ground, enveloping his hand between his knees. Utah stood beside him and thumped him on the back with his lancer.

"You did good, Sarge."

Ian looked up at Utah's scarred face and let a cheeky grin replace his former glower, he still couldn't get used to his new title. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Utah nodded and walked over to Hawkins, who was vigorously rubbing the blood and muck off of the tip of his boot. "Hey, Hawk, go easy on Z, he was just helping you out."

Hawkins shook his head, shrugging away the comment, "The boy knows be'er than to get between me 'n my kills."

Utah smirked, "I'll be sure to let him know next time."

Having had Utah return to Ian's side, Hawkins retorted, "Not to mention he's a smart-ass!"

Utah waved away his ignorance and radioed the rook, "Z, get down here and help the wounded."

Ian instantly stood up, "I'll do what I can for them."

Ian wasn't a doctor but desperate times called for desperate measures. Before the war, Ian had worked as a respectable Veterinarian; his worries consisted of one or two poor beasts a day. Now, his limited medical skills were all he could offer to Charlie squad. Watching his men escort what wounded they had acquired, Ian examined his 'patients' and pulled a basic medical kit from his belt. Kneeling beside his demolitions expert, Gonzo, Ian began to treat the slash in his thigh, deep with blood trickling down his armor.

"How you doin', Gonzo?"

"Okay, boss." Gonzo lied, his voice tight with pain. Ian eyed him cautiously while touching the tender skin that gorged the abrasion. The demolitionist flinched with a much anticipated groan.

"Stop being such a pussy!" Another wounded hollered from his appointed place on the ground. Wesley Olliver added, "At least you don't have a bullet in _your _ass!"

"Tú, hijo de puta! Tu madre pense que yo ero lo bastante hombre!"

"Hey, buddy! Here's a newsflash for you... no one knows what the hell you're saying!" Wes yelled in frustration, no doubt giving himself a headache.

"Gringo..." Gonzo muttered with a scoff. Wes proceeded to flip him off while rubbing his throbbing ass.

"Hey, Sarge, can you help me out? I'm dying over here..." Wes complained.

Ian tried to hide his chuckle, "How did you manage to get shot in the ass anyways?"

"I dropped my pistol and the bastard shot me when I bent over to pick it up!"

Ian scoffed, "Dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just patch me up," Wes rolled his eyes at the sergeant.

Ian finished wrapping up Gonzo's leg with the cheap material they used as bandages. "Don't let me forget to re-bandage that when we get back to base."

"Sure, boss."

Ian walked over to the whiniest soldier he had ever dealt with. "Turn over, Wes."

Wes gave the Sergeant a reluctant look before slowly rotating his body. "Don't make this any more embarrassing than it already is."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Ian stated as he pulled the tweezers from his med-kit.

Ian looked at the last soldier in need of medical attention. Propped against a light pole, Eli Griffin was fast asleep; head tilted toward the ground and mouth gaped open like a fly trap. Griff was one of the first to go down when the battle began; the man could shoot at a wall and miss. However, Ian had never seen anyone with the skills Griff possessed: If it was broken, you better believe that the private could fix it, even if he only had a sweat band and a toothpick. Ian tiredly let out a moan when Wes The Whiny let out the most surprising, incredibly high-pitched scream as he gradually plucked the bullet from his ass.

"Holy shit!" Wes grumbled, "Did you have to dig around so much?"

"Did you want the bullet out or not?" Ian asked, trying to stifle an evil grin as he bandaged the wound. "Now, walk it off."

"Son of a bitch..." Wes griped, while being lifted to his feet by Ian's helpful hand.

Next stop was the snoozing private. Ian paced over to Griff, calmly shaking him out of his sleep. "Hey, what's up with you?"

Griff stroked his sleep-deprived eyes and yawned, "A grub nicked my shoulder with his chainsaw pretty good. And I think I broke my trigger finger."

Ian nodded and examined the slice in the soldier's toned bicep. Face drained of color, Griff sat quietly and allowed Ian to stitch up the swollen gash. Tugging the last stitch through the soft tissue, Ian observed Griff's exhausted grimace transform into a full fledged smile; gratitude painted across his face.

"Hey, Sarge," He weakly added, "One of my bullets grazed a locust's head."

Ian laughed loudly, "Congratulations, private! You're gettin' closer and closer every day, huh."

Griffin nodded appreciatively, "The last time I actually hit something was in basic training... when I shot my commanding officer in the foot."

"You shot your commanding officer?" Ian asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Yeah..." Griff said, looking into space as if reliving the memory, "But he was kind of a dick... so it was worth it."

Ian shook his head while he examined Griff's awkwardly bent finger. "Well, your finger is definitely broken, but I don't have the supplies to treat it properly. Get some ice on it and try not to move it too much."

Griffin acknowledged, flooded with disappointment, "So I can't work on Daisy?" Daisy, the '62 Chevrolet Corvette, was Griffin's pride and joy. He had found it in an old garage a few months before and had worked on it nonstop ever since; between locust raids, of course.

"You'd have to use one hand."

Griff's eyes lit up as if the sarge had given him the best gift ever. "You should see what I can do with only one hand."

"Be cautious with your shoulder too," Ian advised, "That locust got you in just the right spot, so be careful not to tear the stitches."

Griff offered a quick salute, "Whatever you say, sir."

Ian stood up and pulled out his radio, "Control, this is Charlie Squad, area is secure. Over."

"Copy that, Charlie. We'll send a few ravens to get your team outta there right away. Control out." A voice confirmed. It was then that Ian noticed Z, sitting along the tailgate of an old truck. As Ian hopped up to sit beside Z, the rookie wiped his blood-shot eyes, inwardly hoping that the Sergeant wouldn't see his him upset.

"Hey, listen," Ian began gently, "What happened to Kevin wasn't your fault."

"It's never anyone's fault, right? Besides, you don't have to do that," Z brushed at his irritated and runny nose with the back of his hand. "I made one mistake, but that mistake cost a soldier his life."

Ian felt just as responsible for his teammates's life, however he couldn't conjure up what to say to the rookie. So, to comfort him, he offered a firm pat on the back.

"This is war," Ian finally said, "and war is messy, violent, and overflowing with death. Sometimes all you can do is remember the ones that die and fight for the ones that live."

"War is not nice..." Z said, watery streaks lining his face. "Barbara Bush said that."

Lifting his hand over his face, Ian forced himself to covered up his smile. "Well, she was right." Z nodded, his eyes downcast. "Just-" Ian began again, "If you blame yourself, it'll eat you alive, and I'm gonna need my sniper out there. You get me?"

"Okay," Z managed an imposed smile, "I'll do better from now on, Ian."

"That's what I like to hear." Ian replied, optimism in his voice. "Now, go collect some ammo for my men."

The rookie stood proudly and saluted his commanding officer. Ian watched the kid jog away, every step revealing his enthusiasm. He was too young for this war and far too innocent. If Z made it through the war, it would change him in ways even himself wouldn't understand.


End file.
